


Two Tops at the Loft

by scheherezade34



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-19
Updated: 2005-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherezade34/pseuds/scheherezade34
Summary: Brian dumps one shared apartment and looks for another





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

The door opened and an elegant businessman strolled into the book-lined living room. The man’s suit had to be Armani, his deep collared shirt was immaculate and every hair on his head lay in meticulous order. He glanced at the figure absorbed with papers at a desk, and then moved on to put his briefcase in a bedroom. 

When the man appeared again, the Armani suit had been replaced with a wifebeater and jeans. He looked just as beautiful, but no longer tame. He had put off any semblance of being an establishment figure with his business clothes. With his well-honed shoulder muscles gleaming in the late afternoon light, his low-slung jeans precariously held in place by a single button, his tousled hair and bare feet, and most of all his beautifully sculpted face, where clean-cut features were offset by passionately full lips, he had transformed into a perilous creature to be approached with care. He wandered back to the kitchen and picked up an apple and a knife.

At last his hazel eyes focused on the other man. He took a slice of his apple, then announced, 

“I’m moving out.”

The hunky man sitting at the desk looked up from his marking, stunned. This was a bolt from the blue.

“What?”

The standing man favored him with a tongue-in-cheek smirk. 

“That’s no language for an educated professor. And from a professor of English Literature, too!”

“Brian! What did you say?”

“You heard, Ben. I’m moving out.”

The seated man ran his hand through his hair, searching for a response. “Uh, sure. It’s your choice. But may I ask why? We’ve shared an apartment for years now and it’s worked out fine.”

“Yeah, but you don’t really need to share any more now you’ve got tenure.”

“But your objectives are still the same, aren’t they?”

“Uh huh. I’ll be looking for another apartment to share.”

“So why not stay here?”

“They’ve been asking questions about my low-middle class address at work. Asking why I haven’t aspired to better in the last eight years.”

“You didn’t just tell them to ..”

“Fuck off? No. In a way they’re right. It’s time for me to move on.”

Ben stared up at him, puzzled. Brian Kinney never did anything because other people thought he should. Especially not anything nosy personnel staff in a straight office thought he should be doing. 

Perhaps there was something else going on.

“Has the AIDs routine got too much for you? ….”

“Ben, if I thought you believed that, I’d kill you. Long before AIDs does.” Brian carefully took another slice from his apple and bit into it. “Stop fishing. I’m moving.”

Ben sighed, looking over his papers, almost as if he’d find some enlightenment there. He’d get no closer to the truth while Brian remained in elegant asshole mode.

“When?”

“As soon as I find another apartment to share.”

“You haven’t done that yet?”

Brian granted him a more serious look this time, “I thought I’d tell you first.”

Ben leaned back, considering the stunning, impossible man in front of him. They’d shared a flat for a long time, keeping their sex lives separate, since they were both tops, but enjoying each other’s company and sharing expenses.

He suddenly chuckled, “You’ll be here for years. All you need to do is find another successful 30-year old top to share with so your home life stays uncomplicated.”

“29 year old!”

“Successful nearly 30-year old tops will have set themselves up by now. Why should they want to share with another top who is sure to steal their tricks?”

“I don’t fuck friends and I don’t fuck flatmates – or their tricks. You know that. I’ve never stolen yours!”

“No-one in Liberty Avenue would believe that. You’re ruthless at Babylon. Why should they suddenly believe you’re principled in private, when you deliberately haven’t shown that side of you for ten years?”

“All I need is a flatmate, not a soul mate,” Brian glared irritably at him.

“A top!” Ben grinned.

“Yes, bottoms get romantic, no matter what they say. When I’m home I need to be able to work without sappy emotional stuff.”

“Successful!”

“Why?” Brian was curious now.

“Anyone not successful would know you’d walk all over them – and they’d never believe you wouldn’t steal their tricks.”

“I wouldn’t. I can get all the tricks I need without stooping to fuck up a flatmate.”

“Ah, but can you convince the tricks to stick with your flatmate and not come after you?”

“That’s my flatmate’s problem!”

“No, it’s yours, if you’re trying to convince him to share his space with you.”

“So, hot and successful. Someone who needn’t fear me as competition.”

“Well, that wipes out the whole of Pittsburgh!”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s your own fault.” Ben folded his arms on the desk and smiled across at the other man. “You’re the one who’s cultivated a reputation as the Stud of Liberty Avenue.”

“I never did that.”

“To be fair, I suppose you didn’t.”

Brian’s tongue was firmly in his cheek. “No, I’ve just fucked all the hottest tricks in town and let other people say what they will.”

“So, hot and successful and a top, AND wants to share an apartment.”

“You’ve compromised. You haven’t said he has to be 29 any more.”

“So an old guy’s OK?”

“No. An old guy wouldn’t agree to staying out till 3 on my fuck-at-home nights.”

“So, hot and successful and a top, AND wants to share an apartment, AND young.”

 

“Sounds good.” Another tongue in cheek smirk.

“You’ll be here for years.” Ben chuckled again and returned ruefully to his marking. 

He hoped having to find another place would delay Brian long enough for Ben to find out what was going on and get him to reconsider. Not that Brian changed his mind often. He didn’t take kindly to anyone interfering in his affairs at the best of times, and apart from that, he was plain stubborn. 

Ben sighed. He didn’t like his chances. He’d miss Brian, in spite of their being very different people. 

He, Ben, preferred committed relationships. Brian tricked. 

He, Ben, enjoyed communicating with people, one of the reasons he’d ended up as a professor teaching English. Brian, while he was a master at communicating in his job as an advertising executive, was also a master at avoiding all personal communication. 

He, Ben, wasn’t very interested in gathering worldly possessions. Now, of course he had AIDs, and he couldn’t take possessions with him. Brian gathered material things as defenses guarding his perimeter. 

He, Ben, gathered riches of the spirit, studying Buddhism and yoga. Brian gathered and hoarded every cent he could.

But still, Brian was fun. He had a sharp mind and a quick if sometimes vicious sense of humor. He’d been there all the time while Ben had dealt with the shock of finding out he had AIDs, and during his various battles with illness. Brian had hardly said a word about his illness, and was no nursemaid. But he hadn’t withdrawn a centimeter when he’d found out the news, as others, supposedly closer, had. And his almost invisible support had always been there: seeing off tactless would-be helpers by getting them so furious with him that they forgot all about ministering to Ben; installing exercise equipment in the apartment, ostensibly so Brian could exercise at home; puppet mastering Ben’s friends and colleagues when Ben did need them to rally round, or to give him space.

Well, by now, he could manage without Brian. But he’d miss him, and his crazy group of friends. He wondered if without Brian around, he’d end up only seeing his academic colleagues. No more flamboyant Emmett, no more terrifying Deb (after all, the diner didn’t really serve the sort of food he needed), no more caring and open Michael.


	2. Two Tops at the Loft

The young blond in the center of the loft was standing back from his easel, rubbing his hand irritably, when an authoritative thumping sounded on his door.

Justin hadn’t heard anyone buzz him, and none of his friends would pound like that. Maybe his fa… Craig would, but he’d like to see the day when . . . . Craig knocked on his door again.

He wiped off his brush, put it down and ambled to the door, not letting another round of whacks faze him. The person he could see through the spyhole looked quite safe, gorgeous in fact. Brown “just fucked” hair, hazel eyes, long neck, long, long legs. It might be interesting to talk to him. Maybe while he redirected the guy to whatever apartment he really wanted to visit, he’d be able to persuade him to spend a little time in Justin’s loft. In Justin’s loft bedroom, to be precise.

He opened the door. “Hello?” he beamed. His smile was usually a good way to hook them quickly.

The beautiful guy stepped back. “Justin Taylor?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry, I’ve got the wrong address.”

Justin gaped. “Then how do you know my name, and why did you make a good attempt at knocking down my industrial strength door?’

“Because I didn’t know it was the wrong address till you opened the door.”

Justin tried to make sense of this, “What difference did that make?”

“Duh. You opened the door?”

“And entered the land of Oz? This conversation is weird. Why did my opening the door make a difference?”

The brunette sighed, acting as if he was talking to a backward child, “YOU opened the door.”

“So?”

“I was told there was a top here who might be interested in a flatmate to share the costs.”

“…and ..” by now Justin was using the same painstaking, condescending voice as his uninvited, puzzling, and now infuriating visitor.

“I find a sweet little bottom in residence.”

“How can you tell that?”

Brian stood back a little to enjoy the sight in front of him. The blond had deep blue eyes, silky blond hair and perfect translucent skin. Even better, standing at this slight angle to the boy, Brian could see some of the curve of a succulent ass. He’d like to see more. 

“With paint on your nose and wearing those sweatpants? You’re not just visiting to sell Avon. You’re obviously in residence.”

“True. But you’re still wrong. I’m a top.”

“A cute little thing like you? That would be a criminal neglect of that gorgeous ass of yours.”

“You haven’t seen my ass!”

“With an ass as sumptuous as yours I can see it even from here,” Brian leered. “Of course, if you invited me in I could follow you and take a better look!”

Justin glared at him. Brian’s predatory survey of his ass was setting off all his warning signals. He had no intention of prolonging this, and tried to bring the conversation back to its original point. “But you’ve decided this is the wrong address.”

“True, I only want to share an apartment with a top, but I don’t mind visiting.” Brian’s tongue was firmly in his cheek. “Can’t I visit with you, little boy?”

“To what purpose?”

Brian pushed up close against him, “We could think of something, I’m sure.”

Justin grinned and pushed straight back, “You want me to fuck you?”

“Fuck. Yes. But me, to fuck you.”

Justin adopted a forbearing, long-suffering manner, spelling it out again to the slow learner in front of him. “I’m a top. T-O-P. Top. I’m the one who fucks.”

Unfortunately, he was so focused on setting his unwanted visitor in his place that he hadn’t noticed his neighbor. The elderly man had opened his door and was heading their way. He was squeezing past the pair of them just as Justin got to the climax of his explanation. Totally ill at ease, the man ducked his head and hurried for the elevator. 

“Fuck!” Justin stared worriedly at his neighbor’s back as the lift doors closed, and then glared at the man smirking down at him. “I’ve had enough trouble getting them to say hello to me already, and now this.” He turned on his heel and headed back inside his apartment.

“Why bother?” The interloper had seized his opportunity and followed him in. He walked to the center of the enormous main open area of the loft, which combined studio, living and kitchen spaces. He turned slowly, surveying the whole light space with its enormous windows, and noting the open doors off to a messy large bedroom and nearly as messy large office/storeroom. “This is a great loft, by the way.”

“It’s nice to get on with your neighbors. I like this loft too, but why are you in it?”

“We were talking about me fucking you.”

“No way. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Brian Kinney, but who needs names for a good fuck?”

“Brian Kinney, get your ass out of here.”

Brian moved towards him, grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him in close. 

“Now is that anyway to speak to a guest?” he murmured into Justin’s ear. His other hand threaded through Justin’s hair, which felt as silky as it had looked.

“Hmmm,” he murmured, “Nice.” He delicately traced the curved of that ear with his tongue.

Justin shoved against Brian’s chest, but found one hand captured by the hand that had been holding his shirt. As Brian’s groin began to rub against his, Justin’s free hand unaccountably opened out and his fingers and palm began searching out the shape of Brian’s chest muscles and nipple through the silky fabric of his shirt.

Brian grunted in satisfaction and slid his mouth round to taste, for the first time, those plump lips that had been teasing him since the blond opened the door. Mouthing and nipping first Justin’s upper lip, then his lower, he next slid his tongue inside Justin’s suddenly needy mouth. The kid tasted of toothpaste and lollipop, innocent tastes belying the way the kid was suddenly deepening the kiss.

Justin shuddered and arched against him, pulling his hand free of Brian’s so that he could grab Brian’s head and hold it in place, stopping the teasing and exploring Brian’s tongue with his own.

Wanting Justin even closer, Brian slid his freed hand down over that luscious ass, and with his middle finger slipped into the cleft between the two mounds, he squeezed Justin’s ass towards him, pleasurably increasing the pressure on their already hard dicks.

A fist slammed into his nose, and a knee got his balls. Hard.

“Get off!”

“Fuck!” Brian staggered backwards, nearly falling over as Justin thrust him off.

“Get out!”

“Fuck. I cad’t walk!”

Justin gave him a good hard shove towards the door. “Too bad. You asked for it. Get out!”

“My dose! It’s bleeding!”

“Good. Get out!” Justin kept on pushing Brian, hobbling disorientedly, in the right direction.

“You little fiedd!”

“Next time, remember a proper Top respects the word ‘no’,” Justin declared self-righteously as he gave Brian another prod through the doorway and grabbed hold of the heavy door.

“Wait!” Brian somehow managed to get his foot in the door, and left it there, keeping the door a crack open in spite of Justin’s hearty slam.

He smirked at the furious blond. “How sood can I move id?”


	3. Two Tops at the Loft

Justin had had more than enough. “Just fuck off.”

He drew back the door so he could slam it even harder.

“Wait. You at least owe me some tissues. If I get blood od this shirt it’ll cost a fortude in drycleading to get it out.”

“Your problem.”

“Add this much blood cad’t be good for my deviated septum.”

“Deviated septum?”

Aha. Brian had managed to distract him. He’d thought Justin was a sweet little bottom. Well, his balls and his nose had come to the agreement that the kid was serious about being a top, but it looked like he might have been right about the “sweet” bit. Maybe Brian still had an angle that would keep that door open.

Better not get too specific. After all, it had never actually bothered him. He just irritated Ben with his noisy breathing if he fell asleep in front of Ben’s weird movies. “It fucks with my breathig. Eved without blood swilling aroud.” 

Justin glared at him suspiciously, but headed towards the kitchen bench to fetch a box of tissues.

Brian took the opportunity to ease back into the room, but decided it would be politic to remain near the doorway. “Thadks.” He fished out a handful of tissues and attempted to mop up his nose. His balls were still fucking painful. He just couldn’t find a comfortable way to stand, and he kept on dropping the fucking tissues.

Justin suppressed a smile, which Brian noted. The kid was as mad as hell with him but he was still politely trying not to laugh. A very well-brought-up kiddy. 

Justin’s “You’d better sit down,” confirmed it.

Brian maneuvered awkwardly onto a chair. “Fuck.” 

He mopped in silence for a while.

Justin, surveying those long, long legs in designer pants and Gucci boots shifting uncomfortably yet again, found himself succumbing to curiosity.

“Why on earth would such a predatory creature as you be planning such a conventional money-saving thing as sharing an apartment, anyway? Surely you want your own space for your conquests.”

Considering the failure of his current attempted conquest, Brian thought he’d ignore that last bit. “To save modey?”

Justin snorted at that. “And why on earth would anyone want to share an apartment with you?”

“To save modey?”

Justin snorted again. 

Brian thought he’d better take some initiative. His honest answers weren’t exactly wooing the prospect.

Usually he’d wine and dine a difficult prospect, but he had a more than mild suspicion that if he tried to ply Justin with alcohol, his twingeing balls and aching nose would be out on the street.

That left food. Teenagers were always hungry. And those Cup-a-Soup packets left on the bench (he’d have to do something about that) didn’t look as though they could have provided a filling meal.

 

“How about I explaid over some take-out?”

Justin couldn’t conceal his interest. Takeout sounded great and he was sick of his own company, though he’d never tell Daphne or his family that. And this guy was intriguing. He’d never had anyone he’d kneed in the balls five minutes before offer him a meal. Not that he’d ever had to knee anyone to make them believe he meant “no” before. But Brian had accepted it. Justin was under no illusion that, in spite of his surprise attack, it could have been a lot more difficult to get Brian out of the apartment if the taller man had really decided to get aggressive. 

So, the guy had come looking for an apartment to share, then decided he didn’t want to, then propositioned him, then kissed him when he refused (well, he had refused for a while), then accepted being thrown out, then asked if he could move in, then offered him dinner, well, takeout, anyway.

Justin decided the guy was basically safe, but that he had no idea what on earth was going on inside his head. This evening was a lot more interesting than he’d thought it would be.

“Thai?” Brian continued hopefully.

“Pizza?” the blond brat demanded sweetly.

“You order, I’ll pay,” Brian surrendered.

Justin phoned in the order, pepperoni with extra garlic bread (Brian shuddered), and, deciding his impromptu guest hadn’t really merited social conversation, headed over to his easel to clean up his brushes before they dried.

Brian bided his time; content to leave his maneuvering until after the kid was well fed. How old was the cute blond anyway? And how did he have this apartment all to himself? There was no evidence of more than one person living here. Not even evidence of any visitors at all. 

Someone as young and cute and as gay as the kid in front of him definitely needed someone around to look after him. Surely they’d be queuing up for the job? He needed protection. The gay world wasn’t always kind. No world was, for that matter.

Brian shifted in his seat, trying to work out the angles. At his movement his balls reminded him that maybe the blond wasn’t quite so defenseless after all.

So, not completely defenseless. But why alone?

The figure at the easel was quite composed not talking to him. Very confident for such a young thing. He liked that, that the kid didn’t feel the need to justify his attack on him, or to fill the silence. He’d have to watch his step, not take anything for granted.

Another twinge from his balls said they agreed with him.

Both men waited for the pizza.

Which was average takeout pizza. Justin thought it was as great as ever, wishing he could afford it more often himself. Brian thought it was as disgusting and artery-clogging as ever. He picked at a piece while he waited, first for signs that Justin’s appetite was sated, then for signs of impending explosion as the little kid kept on inhaling slice after slice. 

After finishing off, still appearing to enjoy every mouthful, the last piece of now cold garlic bread, Justin eventually appeared to consider that his guest had earned some attention.

“Are you going to tell me what all that was about?”

“I want to share an apartment. This one.”

“The first thing you said to me was that you didn’t want to any more.”

“But that was before I knew you were a top.”

“That makes a difference because ….”

“Bottoms get romantic and I need a peaceful home life. I’ve too much work and play to do to worry about sappy flat mates.”

“Um, leaving aside your weird assumptions, should I say conceited assumptions…”

“Based on life experience.” Brian’s mock-humble interruption would have been more impressive without the puffy nose.

“.. As I said, leaving aside your conceited assumptions, I told you I was a top.”

This time Brian gave a genuine conspiratorial grin. “Be honest. How many times has someone sworn to you that they only topped, and ten minutes later they’ve been begging you to fuck them?”

Justin stalled, his self-righteousness suddenly cut from under him. He didn’t trick all the time, but Brian was right. It had happened. Once in a while he had deliberately set out to make some complacent top reconsider his opinions of the little twink in front of him. He’d enjoyed it. They had too, once they’d accepted their fate. 

Brian watched with interest. Justin knew exactly what he was talking about. Would he deny it?

“Uh. Okay. But couldn’t you accept ‘no’?”

“And we have safe words because …?”

“Because ‘no’ doesn’t always mean ‘no’ when things are intense when you’re making love.”

“When you’re fucking.”

Uh oh, the kid hadn’t appreciated his patronizing correction. Better stop teasing him and get on with the proposition, quickly.

“But, now I know you’re a top, it’s back to Case One, my original proposition. Want to share your apartment?”

“Again, why should I?”

“Again, to save money?”

“Why should I need to? I own this loft. I could be the spoilt son of a fabulously wealthy family?”

“The spoilt son of a fabulously wealthy family who forgot to tell his maid to clean up the mess?” Brian looked around at the casual muddle of Justin’s everyday life derisively.

“I might just be idiosyncratic.”

“You’re a well-bought up upper middle class WASP. I don’t know how you got the flat, but the utilities and living costs must still be difficult with what little you could be earning at your age.”

“I’m older than I look.” Justin was so used to having to say this that he didn’t even feel very defensive about it. “But what makes you so sure about the WASP bit?”

“ ‘It’s nice to be nice to your neighbors?’” Brian quoted mockingly. “And you actually tried not to laugh at me when I was hobbling around after you kneed me. You’re a well-bought up WASP for sure. And even if you are older than you look, you still can’t be earning much.”

“I’m a student.”

“I’ll move in tomorrow.”

“Fuck off. I’m here because I like living by myself.”

“Every gay boy needs to get away from his family. But can you afford to?”

“Just about.”

“If you had me paying rent for that spare room of yours, you could actually afford to eat.” Brian waved the empty pizza box at him. 

Justin gazed regretfully at the empty box. 

The kid couldn’t want more food, could he?

Justin gathered himself together, after all, the pizza box was empty. “I told you. I don’t want anyone around. Especially not anyone who won’t answer a straight question.”

“Moi?”

“Why on earth would someone as predatory as you, who can afford the clothes you’re wearing, want to share a flat at your age. You should be set up in a stylish fuck-pad.”

“ ‘At my age’ – I’m not old!”

“See!”

“What?”

“You’re still not answering.”

“I told you, I want to save the money.”

“With those designer pants and Prada boots?”

“It’s obvious you’re gay.”

“Again.”

“What?”

“You’re not answering. Do you want to share this place or not?”

Brian carefully avoided showing the jolt of satisfaction that ran through him. The kid was starting to work towards the deal now.

However, Justin did have him cornered. He supposed he’d have to give the real reason why he wanted to cut costs. The kid had already shown he was sharp enough to pick any evasion.

 

“I told you, I want to save money too. I’ve a good reason.”

“Which is?”

Brian leaned back, carefully, in consideration of his balls.

“Listen carefully grasshopper, while I tell you a tale. I’m an ad executive.”

“Figures!”

“Tst. Interruptions! I’m a fucking good ad executive, actually.”

“Modesty again.”

“Fuck you. Anyway, early in my career I got caught fucking the boss’s nephew in the photocopy room, and ever since then I’ve been cast as ‘unreliable.’”

“Sounds like you are!”

“No.” Brian smirked. “When it comes to fucking I’m very reliable.”

Justin groaned at the comeback.

“But they’ve used that ever since to keep me under. They use my talent to sell their pitches, and then take the credit themselves. Whenever the question of promotion comes up, the ‘unreliable’ word gets muttered. A couple of guys have been caught fucking girls in the office over the years, but that just adds to their ‘regular guy’ status.” Brian scowled.

“Why haven’t you changed jobs?”

“I’m queer and most of the industry’s straight. The same thing would probably happen wherever I go. And apart from that, I’m too good.”

“Modesty again. But huh?

“All the contracts these days have non-competition clauses in them if you leave, and they know I’m good. I’d never get away with another contract without that clause in there. Because I’ve accepted my miserable bonuses and been polite at contract renewal no-one’s gone through my original contract carefully. If I had my own company, my client list is worth fifty times what their miserable bonuses and pay raises would be, even if they did reward me the same as the ‘regular, reliable guys.’ My original contract doesn’t have a non-competition clause. And I’ve got lots of clients who insist on me personally handling their accounts, even though I’m not supposed to know that. ”

“Fucked someone in personnel to find that out?”

Brian scowled again. “I keep my dick in my trousers at work these days. At least as far as fellow workers go. No, my secretary, Cynthia, is the tops. She knows everything she’s not supposed to.”

“But a non-competition clause, isn’t that so you can’t set up in opposition and take their clients?”

“Exactly. It also limits which other businesses you could go to and take your clients with you, but - setting up – that’s what I plan to do.”

“Start your own advertising agency?”

“Yeah. But it takes a lot of money to start out, even if I have a great client list. And I started way below zero. So I’m saving every cent I can until I can own my own agency and show the fuckers just how useless they are when they’re in competition with me, not using me.”

“So it’s even worth sacrificing your own fuck-pad for?”

“I can get fucks anywhere. It’s work sacrificing having my own space for a few years if it means having my own company in the end.”

“Modesty again. Your designer clothes?”

“Work clothes for casual days. Appearance is everything in the advertising world.”

“Well, I suppose that explains you. But I still ….”

Brian cut him off. Never give a prospect the opportunity to refuse. Delay. Divert. Distract.

“Look, you haven’t had a chance to think about it. Don’t decide till you’ve had a chance to consider how much easier some extra money could make your studies. Where are you studying?”

“PIFA,” Justin smiled with pride.

“Great choice for the visual arts.”

“You’d know?” Justin was suspicious he was being buttered up.

“Duh. I’m in advertising? That thing with pictures and words? Pictures we need to hire the right people to create? The right people from the right schools?” Okay, so maybe Brian wasn’t being ingratiating. Or, he might be trying to flatter him but at least he was being honest.

Brian continued. “But PIFA costs a lot.”

“Yep. So I take fewer units.”

“Think of the difference if you could take a full course. In fact, think of the difference if you could pay in advance – the earlier you pay the bigger the discounts. I’ve got the money so I could pay you in advance.” Brian was getting enthusiastic now. He always got caught up in the excitement of hooking a sale.

Justin wavered. He prized his space and privacy here at the loft, and had never thought of sharing. But the years of struggle it would take to get him through his degree had seemed more and more daunting once his first enthusiasm at his independence had settled down. PIFA was great, but he’d worked hard for a whole year already, and only had half one year’s credits to his name. There was a long way to go.

“But how would it work? Two tops in one loft?”

“That’s easy."


	4. Two Tops at the Loft

“Easy, huh?”

“Yep.”

Justin settled back to enjoy Brian’s version of ‘easy’. 

If it resembled in any way Brian’s version of ‘reasonable’ behavior, he was in for an entertaining half hour, at least. After all, Brian had managed to explain that it was ‘reasonable’ to check that Justin was a top by attempting to seduce him in his own home, and that it was ‘reasonable’ for Brian to want to share an apartment with someone who had just kneed him in the balls. He could spin a great story. 

That befitted an ad man, he supposed. He’d have to be careful that he wasn’t being suckered by a skilful salesman. Mind you, he was a really original salesman if he had deliberately tempted Justin to knee him. Justin knew he felt vaguely guilty about the older man’s continued discomfort, and that it was perhaps making him a little sympathetic towards the guy, but … . No. The reality check was that Justin was positive that a man so blatantly committed to fucking as Brian wouldn’t risk his balls in any way at all.

But it sure would be an entertaining exposition. 

Justin looked around vaguely. The pizza box really was empty. Pity there was no popcorn to go with the show.

“Um, would you like something to drink to wash down the pizza?”

Excellent, Brian thought to himself. Justin’s offering hospitality was a significant step forward. But what he really needed was ..

“Tylenol?”

“No. I’m allergic.” Justin got up and headed towards the kitchen. “But some Beam might have some pain-killing qualities?”

Brian looked at the scruffy student in disbelief. “You’ve been eating Cup-a-Soups but you have Beam?”

Justin grinned as he looked at the bottle, “Well, it’s my boyfriend’s really. We usually share …”

Brain had lurched to his feet and was stomping in awkward fury towards the door.

“What the fuck’s driving you now?” demanded Justin.

“I’ve wasted time and damaged my balls and you’ve a boyfriend!” Brian shouted over his shoulder.

“So?”

“You don’t need to share if you’re sharing with your boyfriend!” Brain grabbed the door handle, but with his unbalanced stance he couldn’t get the heavy fucking thing moving.

“We share Beam, not the loft, you asshole!” snarled Justin.

“Fuck yeah. You’re sexually active; you’ve a great loft; you’re broke. Like fuck your boyfriend doesn’t spend most of his time here.”

“He lives with his mother!”

Dead silence. Brian couldn’t figure whether to laugh his head off or swear at the kid in disbelief.

What queer in his right mind would be living with his mother rather than with the bright, gorgeous kid in front of him?

Wait, that meant the loft was still available. Laughing or swearing at the kid would be counterproductive. But he couldn’t think of a word to say.

The silence lengthened.

Justin obviously felt his boyfriend needed a little justification, in spite of Brian’s silence. Or maybe because of it.

“He’s a very gifted musician. At home he has the soundproof studio he needs to practice his violin in, and a piano for his accompanist. And he has to practice so many hours a day, it’s good that he’s got his family’s housekeeper there to support him with meals and so on.”

 

“Um. Nice for him.”

“He needs it. His talent and dedication deserve it.”

Brian couldn’t resist being a little ironic.

“And you didn’t move in to add your support? You’d get good rent from this place.”

Justin’s self-righteousness wavered a little. “Well, no. You see, he has to think of his future professional image. He can’t afford to be seen as a homosexual.”

Brian swore to himself. The fucking mother’s boy fiddler was a closet queer.

Of course, that was no concern of his.

“I’d like that Beam.” He attempted to stroll back to the sofa as though no queen-out had occurred. 

Justin snorted to himself as he poured out two glasses. The ad exec might have pulled it off better if he could have walked properly.

“By the way, how come you’re shouting out that I’m sexually active?”

“Our kiss?”

“One kiss!”

“Todd told me.”

“Who the fuck is Todd?”

“Babylon’s bottom boy, of course.”

“I don’t go to Babylon.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Getting back to Todd, who the fuck is he?”

“He’s how I knew you were a top with a big apartment and not much money.”

“Fuck it …”

“Your electrician. He came to install your replacement garbage disposal, and you installed …,” Brian grinned as he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“You asked ‘Babylon’s Bottom Boy’ to suggest flatmates for you?” Justin didn’t know whether to laugh or be appalled that his name had come up in that way.

“He knows all the tops,” Brian seemed to think he had been quite reasonable. “He probably knows all the ones you’d never want to share with,” he continued pensively. “And I could hardly advertise at the housing agencies. Pittsburgh’s a small place in some ways. My fucking bosses would find out I was sharing and start wondering why I was hoarding my salary.”

Justin gave up on wondering how Brian’s brain worked. His thoughts went back to Todd.

“So Todd bottoms at every opportunity during his tradesman’s day, then bottoms at Babylon as well?”

“Every night!”

“No wonder he knows his trade.”

Justin sat down and passed Brian his Beam.

Both men considered Todd’s talents reflectively as they sipped their drinks.

“Of course,” said Brian regretfully, “that’ll have to stop.”

“Drinking?”

“Sharing notes on our sex lives. It doesn’t work.”

“That’s the first rule?”

“Rule? It just doesn’t work. Competitions get complicated sooner or later.”

“We could talk without turning things into some sort of ego game.”

“But would the bottoms? Those emotional little things wanting to know who we thought was best, or which one of us liked them best. And if they know we’re talking about them to each other, they always want us to put in a good word for them. When once I’ve fucked them, I just want to forget them and get on with the next trick.”

“You forget, I have a boyfriend. I wouldn’t be involved in all this shit.” Justin spoke a little smugly.

“You fucked Todd.” Brian countered.

“Ethan’s in Europe touring with the PIFA student orchestra. Before he left he told me he wouldn’t be faithful while he was away. We have an open relationship when he’s away and enjoy each other when we can.”

“Very reasonable.” Brian couldn’t work out what was wrong. The fiddler’s attitude was just what he, Brian, thought was sensible. After all, all those European men took fucking seriously, and they had always revered classical music, just because their continent had invented it. But that ‘Ethan told me he wouldn’t be faithful’ left a bad taste in his mouth, somehow.

Justin decided this was all too shaky ground.

“Anyway, back to the rules.”

“Sex lives completely separate. None of each other’s business.”

“Fair enough. Does that mean we don’t fuck someone the other one has fucked?”

“Of course we can. It’s just that we’d never know the other one had fucked them too. Each other’s fucks are none of our business.”

“Right. Next.”

“We get two fuck-at-home nights each a week. The other doesn’t come home till three at weekends or one on weeknights on those nights.”

“Three o’clock in the morning!”

“All right. Two.”

“And twelve.”

“Deal. The other three nights we get to work quietly at home. No interruptions.”

“What about Ethan visiting?”

“On fuck-at-home nights, fine.”

“For social visits, you asshole!”

“I don’t do social.”

“Your friends don’t visit?”

Brian winced, thinking of Michael.

“Um, well, we might have to firm up social visits, but the basic idea is no interrupting each other’s work on those nights.”

Brian made the next point before Justin could corner him on ‘social’ issues. “We share utilities costs.”

“Of course. And food. It’s way cheaper.”

“No way. I don’t eat much. I’m not subsidizing fatty gourmet extravaganzas.”

“I’m not queuing up to take turns in my own kitchen.”

“Right. You cook, I’ll clean.”

“Everything?”

“Of course not. We clean up our own messes – and that means you cleaning up after you’ve cooked in the kitchen.”

“No fair if I’ve cooked.”

“No way am I cleaning up after some queen cooking up a melodramatic storm in a kitchen. That’s a sure way to get every saucepan in the cupboard dirty.”

“I’m not a melodramatic queen.”

“Princess.”

“No.”

“I’m not cleaning up after your cooking.”

“I clean up after my cooking, and my own messes and cook. What’s left for you to clean?”

Brian looked around the loft disparagingly.

“Try it for two weeks, then decide if it’s not a fair division of labor.”

“Only if you try sharing my ‘fatty gourmet extravaganza’ cooking for two weeks.”

“Only on nights I want to be home.”

“But you tell me beforehand if you’re eating in.”

“But no tantrums if I don’t get home till it’s cold. That’s my problem.”

“Not very sociable.”

“We’re sharing a loft, not our lives.”

“We’re talking about what might be the rules if I ever decided I might want to share my loft with you.”

“I’m not going to agree to Lezzie stuff just to clinch a deal!”

“I’m not trying to turn into a lesbian, thank you. I just don’t want a stranger stomping around thinking they own part of my loft.”

“Ben never thought I was a stranger, but we did get on with our own lives.”

“Ben, your current flatmate?”

“Yep. We enjoy each other’s being around.”

“So why are you moving out of there?”

“My fucking bosses have suddenly decided there's something strange about me still living at the same low middle class address for as long as I've been with the company. Armani suits and the 'burbs don't gel."

"And you're jumping at their whim?"

"How I manage my professional life is my business.”

“Uh. OK.”

Justin thought that through. He supposed it was really none of his business, but he’d get back to that point. “So we’re companionable if we’re in the Loft together, but get on with our own lives without worrying about fitting in with each other’s timetables?”

“I think we’re both too busy to waste time doing that.”

Brian continued. “Of course, on my fuck-at-home nights I won’t fuck my tricks in your studio area.”

“You want to fuck outside your bedroom?”

“Showers, benches, floors, stools, are fun!”

“The other bedroom has its own shower and bathroom.”

“Even better! But you can’t tell me you and Ethan don’t play in this area. Just look at the handcuff potential!”

Justin decided not to go there. “I need all the room I’m already taking as studio space for my painting.”

Brian looked around, assessing the extent of the spacious main loft area. “That’s fine. There’s still plenty of room for my exercise equipment without cluttering the open look of the place.”

Justin exploded. “No fucking way. My dad had that stuff. Clanking away when he was pissed at life in general. And we never dared tell him to stop even if we wanted to go to sleep. I’m not having lumps of metal destroy my peace here.”

Stunned, Brian regarded the incensed boy in front of him, “Whoah. If it’s that important, I won’t bring it in. Actually, it could work…. “ Brian’s voice tapered off. “Things can be dangerously volatile round you!” he recovered.

“Look who’s talking,” retorted Justin, still aroused. “How does Ben survive your changes of state?”

“Zen Ben?” chuckled Brian, “I never disturb his aura. Mind you,” he continued thoughtfully, “sometimes I suspect he practices his mind calming techniques when I’m around.”

“Does he do yoga?”

“He’s a Buddhist. And a university lecturer. And he eats tofu.” Brian grimaced.

“Too non-fat even for you?”

Brian acknowledged the hit with an uplifted finger.

Justin continued. “Would he give you a character reference?”


End file.
